


lucky ones this time

by cobaltmoony, CoraRochester



Series: when he gets older, he might be the one [2]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Art, Canon - Comics, Commander Rogers, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, NSFW Art, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, love and donuts, silver fox steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltmoony/pseuds/cobaltmoony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoraRochester/pseuds/CoraRochester
Summary: “You remember France?” Steve asked.A shiver skated up Bucky’s back, and Steve could tell Buck knew just what he was talking about before he even answered. “Remember lots of things about France,” Bucky said, voice almost just hiding that shiver, too.Steve rubbed a little, now, soft and teasing, just testing the give of Bucky’s body, the tenderness it took to be let in. “Met a lot of guys there like us,” Steve said. “Remember? You thought that guy was lyin’. Or maybe that my French wasn’t half so good as we thought it was.”





	lucky ones this time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).

> While this is technically a sequel to [when he gets older, he might be the one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17804693/chapters/42007301), you don't really have to have read that story to enjoy this one. Just know it's set in a more comics-based universe, where Bucky's a little younger than Steve, who's been artificially aged to his fifties by the cosmic cube (also known as the tesseract) (aka, a comics story line I turned into a stucky fic); they had a relationship during the war, and after the whole Winter Soldier thing, Bucky came back to silver-fox Steve, they're in love, they're happy, and this is the tender, worshiping, loving porn to prove it.
> 
> ALSO, this is a birthday fic for the incredibly kind and talented alby_mangroves, and it features beautiful (and deliciously NSFW) art from cobaltmoony. We hope you all enjoy it!!

It was nearly four in the morning by the time Steve was back in the city, the sun yet not beginning to rise and streak through the snow-smeared kitchen windows. Letting go the last reserves of a week-long held breath, he sighed at the simple sight of their kitchen table and its small stack of unsorted mail, a jar of honey and pocket miscellany, all cast in the grey pall of city snowfall.

The bag stayed in the hallway, dropped right there where he shucked his damp boots stuck them upside down over a vent. Here, in the comfort of his own home, Steve could properly smell himself, the sour wet of sweat and snow, pitifully damp campfires, and mildewed tents. He needed to shower and then collapse into bed and sleep past dawn.

His quinjet ride had been spent finishing off the evaluations, ticking through question after question about each of the possible elite team candidates until he’d finished them off and sent them onto Hill. By then, they were back in the city and Steve was tired enough to let a car drive him home. Now all he had to do was shower and he wouldn’t have to go into the office for another week.

The shower smelled like that fancy oil soap Bucky had bought not that long ago, something complex and heady that made Steve want to bury his face in Bucky’s belly, trying to pull apart each fragrant note with deep inhales of bare, slick skin. There were traces of Bucky everywhere, now, in this home he had started to think they’d never share. He took a deep breath, and it was a grateful thing, to breathe in the humid air of their shower, to wash the sweat and stink of the mountains from his skin until he warmed through.

He barely dried off after he got out of the shower, mostly letting the air dry him off as he brushed and flossed in front of the mirror. There was a vivid bruise on one arm, partway healed to a sick yellow-green, a souvenir from icy rock climbing. He saw a similar bruise on his hip, small cuts on his fingers. A burst blister on one heel that had yet to scab properly. The little hurts never failed to unsettle him these days, and he turned away, leaving the bathroom and walking down the dark hall blindly and dragging his feet into the bedroom without bothering to turn on the lights.

Inside, he could just barely see the wide sprawl of Bucky’s pretty body, blankets lumped over him and dark hair laid out over the stark white pillow. His face was loose with sleep, mashed into the groove between their pillows, and Steve swallowed the urge to stroke Bucky's long hair, to press his mouth to the warm skin of Bucky’s cheek. He settled for quickly crawling in under the covers and easing onto his back with a groan.

Steve knew to expect it, but he was relieved when it happened, nonetheless— Bucky curling, half-asleep, against the plane of his chest, sleep-warm and heavy. Clumsy fingers dragging through his still-damp chest hair, warm feet nudging his cold ones. A warm, damp mouth against his shoulder. Soft cotton shorts against his own naked hips, and the rest of it gloriously bare skin, thick and strong, dense with muscle.

When Steve fell asleep, it was curled around Bucky, finally warm.

* * *

It was the squeak of the dresser drawer that woke him properly. Steve came awake half on his belly, not really cold but no longer furnace-warm from Bucky’s stocky, superheated body burrowed into his. Instead, Bucky was bent over against the dresser, tugging on socks. It was bleak out, the natural light dimmed by bursts of gritty city snow as it swept past their windows, and Bucky was dressed up in his winter running gear. Even halfway across the room, Steve could see the way the all-black compression gear clung to Bucky’s body, stretched over thick thighs and fit tight to the dense build of Bucky’s chest and arms.

“Hey,” Buck said softly, adjusting the hem of his shirt over his waist. The mismatch of his hands was beautiful against the immaculate black of his clothes. “You’re up.”

Steve sighed out. “Almost,” he agreed, rubbing his eyes. Bucky was close now, solid and even thicker up close, leaning over the bed and carefully running his metal hand through Steve’s hair. It didn’t catch.

“You want me to wait for you?” Bucky asked, and his mouth was sweet and warm against Steve’s temple, a barely there kiss.

Bucky came willingly when Steve took his chin and tipped his face down, and when they kissed, it was open and full, an overflow of whatever hot, wanting thing that lived in Steve’s chest. He couldn’t help but pull Bucky’s face to the side and kiss his cheek for a long moment, inhaling against warm, sleepy skin. “No,” Steve answered quietly. He was still so tired it ached, dropping his hand from Bucky’s face. “I’ll stay here, get caught up on my sleep.”

When Bucky stood back up, Steve took a moment to nudge his face into the groove where hip and thigh met. “Looks like you need it,” Bucky said, smoothing Steve’s hair away from his face. “I’ll bring home some breakfast, how’s that sound?”

“Whatever you want to get,” Steve answered. He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s hip and hoped it had been felt through the slick fabric.

Even alone, it was easy to fall back asleep with Bucky’s pillow caught up in his arms and pressed up against his chest. It was the dull heat trapped in the sheets, the scent of laundry and shampoo, it was the comfort of a divot worn into the opposite side of the mattress, the stack of paperbacks on Bucky’s bedside table, all soft corners and scrap paper bookmarks, the first thing he saw between one sleepy blink and the next.

Steve was maybe even asleep again before Bucky could hit the pavement outside, and it was good.

* * *

It was the shower that woke him up next, the sound almost dull and rhythmic enough to lull him back to sleep. Instead, Steve listened to the irregular splashes that meant Bucky was washing his long, pretty hair, and rolled onto his back. He stretched slow and easy, the sheets sliding against his bare skin as he eased his body awake from the toes up.

There was a pair of sweatpants thrown over the armchair, and Steve rolled out of bed and dragged them up his legs, cracking his neck as he walked out of the bedroom and meandered into the bathroom. He must’ve slept heavy that second time around, because he felt like a bit of stretched out taffy, elastic but yanked to all the edges of his own body.

In the bathroom, the vent had been flicked on, so there wasn’t enough steam to block his view. “Hey, Buck,” he said to the figure behind the glass— red-pink-white skin and silky black hair sliding over his broad shoulders. Solid thighs and feet planted solidly apart.

“Mornin’ Steve,” Bucky answered. His dark head tilted back and Steve watched suds run down the indent of Bucky’s spine. “Stopped at that bakery you like, got us a whole box.”

“She have those—”

“What is this, amateur hour? Of course I got you a raspberry custard brioche donut. Two, even, you asshole.” The petty annoyance in Bucky’s voice made Steve smile around his toothbrush.

Steve felt a lot more awake after brushing his teeth and splashing his face with some cold water. Every time he glanced in the mirror, he could see Bucky in the shower, soaking up the hot water and scrubbing soap all over his body until Steve could smell that oil soap riding the humid air again.

“How cold’s it out there?” Steve asked when Bucky finally got out of the shower. He’d already yanked Bucky’s towels from the rack, passing over the small hair towel before unfurling the bigger towel but not passing it over.

Bucky shrugged, catching his hair in the little towel and rubbing away at it. It has grown longer since he'd come back to Steve. “Not too bad. Lots of slush today, my sneakers are soaked to hell.”

Steve just nodded. He was more intent on chasing the water as it ran down the hard lines of Bucky’s clean body, drying him off with long, slow drags of their worn-soft towels. He was careful with the metal arm, tracing the grooves and seams, letting Bucky shake it out gently over the bath mat.

“You look pretty good for a week in the wilderness,” Bucky said, thumbing the little pinprick blues of burst blood vessels on Steve’s bruised arm. His touch was warm and gentle, the only real lover’s touch Steve had known. “Expected worse, actually.”

“This group’s pretty good. Going to have to cut a few from the program, but still better than the last class.”

Bucky tossed his damp towel over his shoulder, slicking his wet hair back away from his face with a careless hand. The hot shower had flushed up his high cheekbones and his lips looked a little darker, too, against the warm red wet of his slightly parted mouth. The blush made his eyes look unnaturally blue-grey. His eyelashes were still a little wet, and a bit of water still clung to the sides of his face, the line of his jaw.

“I was always your best student,” Bucky said. “Remember at Lehigh? Teaching me to fight in the middle of the night when we were supposed to be sleeping? We didn’t even think brass was going to let you take me, but you still taught me everything you knew.”

Steve tossed the other towel over the shower door, not looking. He was too busy pulling Bucky forward by his hips, pressing their bodies together from nose to toe. Bucky’s hands were light but big, strong and gentle on his shoulders. Waiting. “You’ve always been the best damn thing I’ve ever seen, kid,” Steve said, his voice hoarse, but he wasn’t even a little ashamed of how deeply the words had been pulled out of him.

“Missed you, Steve,” Bucky whispered.

Steve kissed him once, then twice. “Missed you, too, Buck.”

Bucky nudged their noses together, a sweet little gesture that Steve felt right down deep inside. “I know I got you those donuts, but what are the chances I could convince you to take me back to bed?”

It only took one hand, spread wide against the small of Bucky’s damp back, to pull them all the way together. They were both more than a little hard, cocks slotted up together through the soft fabric of Steve’s sweats. Getting to be close again and again, day after day— god, Steve would never get sick of it. He’d take that sweetness, choose it every morning, all over again, for the rest of his life.

“Chances look pretty good,” Steve sighed, closing his eyes when he felt Bucky’s fingers dig into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Good,” Bucky breathed back. He pulled back, and twisted right past Steve while he was still a little too lovesick to grab right back ahold of him. “Grab that towel,” Bucky said over his shoulder, walking naked out of the bathroom. His thick hair was still a little wet, curling in sloppy loose coils on water-flecked shoulders. Water rolled right down the sleek plating of Bucky’s metal arm as Bucky tied up his wet hair, still walking away from Steve. “I think we’re gonna need it.”

The bedroom was just back down the hall, but Steve took the walk slowly, following behind Bucky’s faint wet footprints on the wood floors. He enjoyed the look of Bucky’s strong body as it moved from light to shadow to back again, slipping through their open bedroom door, back to where the warm sheets were pulled open and waiting. In the burgeoning brightness of their bedroom, Bucky looked like magic, with water still sparkling on the impossibly strong lines of his back, thick with muscle and rippling all the way down to his strong hips and solid thighs and the fullness of his ass.

Bucky eased into the bed while Steve watched, crawling up the middle of the bed to stretch out on his belly. He pulled a pillow under his chest, forcing his spine up in a long, gorgeous arc, and looked over his scarred left shoulder at Steve, eyes dark and practically glowing. Bucky’s legs were spread, one knee drawn just slightly up, and even the faint shadowy parting of his thighs was enough to make Steve hungry, ravenous.

It was only a moment for Steve to drag down his sweatpants, but that was enough time for Bucky to lower his chest and head, ponytail slipping forward over one broad shoulder. The luxurious line of Bucky’s spine smoothed out like an easy, low-tide wave, body settling into the bed. His hips shifted, and Steve’s knees were just sinking into the mattress between Bucky’s ankles when the soft juncture of Bucky’s thighs parted that much more. A knee, dragged up even higher, the other leg pushed out just a little further— even more was bared, now. Not everything, but— _enough_.

Under his hands, Bucky’s skin was warmer than usual, damp from the shower, and Steve took his time moving his hands over Bucky’s calves, over the ticklish place at the back of Bucky’s knees. He stroked patiently up Bucky’s thighs, fingers dancing over firm muscle and thumbs digging into the softer, smoother skin on the pale white insides of Bucky’s thighs. He kept going until his palms were right on that sweet crease where ass met thigh. Until his thumbs were digging into the furnace-hot, shower-damp skin of Bucky’s ass.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve said, and Bucky made a sound that was like a laugh, huskier and sweeter all at once. “Did I miss you or what.” Steve pushed his thumbs up a little deeper, a little higher, and smiled when he heard the soft sound of Bucky’s breath, an airy, high pitched noise that punched right into the softest, hungriest part of Steve’s belly. It was quiet, a little sound pushed into their pillows, but _god_, Steve felt it, and he sucked in a deep breath, lungs full up on the way their room smelled, the hazy thick smell of Bucky’s woodsy soap, the silky, floral scent of his shampoo. The indescribable sweetness of Bucky himself.

Steve pushed a little, spreading Bucky open so he could look at the tightness of Bucky’s hole, clean and small still, responsive when Steve dragged the pad of his thumb over it.

“You remember France?” Steve asked.

A shiver skated up Bucky’s back, and Steve could tell Buck knew just what he was talking about before he even answered. “Remember lots of things about France,” Bucky said, voice almost just hiding that shiver, too.

Steve rubbed a little, now, soft and teasing, just testing the give of Bucky’s body, the tenderness it took to be let in. “Met a lot of guys there like us,” Steve said. “Remember? You thought that guy was lyin’. Or maybe that my French wasn’t half so good as we thought it was.”

Looking up, Steve caught Bucky looking at him out of one lust-dark eye, his flushed face twisted over one shoulder. His mouth was red, wet, parted open on an unsteady breath. “I remember you tried all that stuff out anyway,” Bucky answered.

“Yeah, we did,” Steve murmured, warmed through just from thinking about all the things they somehow got away with out on the frontlines. He tugged Bucky up a little, guiding Bucky up onto his knees. The dark hair on Bucky’s legs tickled Steve’s calves as they resettled, bodies dipping into the grooves of their bed. Steve bent over, not quite close enough to kiss Bucky’s ass, but just enough to settle into place, legs shifting as he got comfortable. “I liked lickin’ you out the best, though, kid.”

This time, when Steve bent down, he got real close, brushing his nose and mouth over Bucky’s ass, kissing into the crease and nuzzling in just far enough to tease. The skin was hotter here, thin like silk. Under his spreading hands, the muscles of Bucky’s ass jumped, and Steve’s kiss turned up at the corners.

One more kiss and then he dragged his mouth up to top of Bucky’s ass, humming against skin. “You gonna let me?”

“Course, Steve,” Bucky whispered.

On his way back down, Steve scraped his jaw over the forgiving softness of Bucky’s ass, his stubble leaving a little red abrasion behind. “Good.”

The first lick was gentle, tentative. Like another question, like standing at a doorway and asking to be let in. Steve mouthed at the fragile skin behind Bucky’s balls, hot and clean, taut under even the lightest touch, and then licked up a little higher. Under the flat of his tongue, Bucky’s hole was small and firm, all ruched muscle and salty skin, and it was so hard to be sweet and good and careful when he really felt like a starving animal, gluttony his only instinct.

Between Steve’s thighs, his cock was mostly hard, rubbing against the mess of their soft sheets. His whole body felt wound up, and his hands tightened on Bucky’s ass, digging in to all that plush skin. Steve exhaled in a long rush, pulling away for just long enough to see Bucky’s balls, his cock hanging down towards the sheets, the wet tip dipping into the folds of the sheets. And then Steve was pushing his face back into Bucky’s ass, mouth wet, tongue sloppy, starting down low and working back up.

When his tongue dragged back over Bucky’s hole, it was softer. Looser. More forgiving. There was wet on his cheeks now, the carelessness of his own sloppy, full-mouthed kisses rubbed back onto his body every time he licked, sucked, dragged his mouth over Bucky’s humid-sweet skin. He dipped low and high, traveling every inch of skin, memorizing and rememorizing gratefully. Hunger rose up high in his belly, spreading to his heart and his lungs and making him light-headed.

What Steve got back was quiet, at first. The soft sound of a breath that trembled a little too long, a kittenish sound from the back of Bucky’s throat that wasn’t nearly enough of a moan. Pillows dragged and pushed, Bucky’s whole body shifting in little fragments of motion, the shush of bedsheets and feathers and the body clutched tight in Steve’s hands.

But everything unspooled, their bodies somehow unreeling from their tight order into something looser, control winched away in quick slips of the line. Bucky’s body seemed to be melting downwards, the lush spill of his heavy body sunk deeper into their sheets and their pillows, and Steve just let himself be dragged down after. Every little drag of his tongue over the hot, jerking muscle of Bucky’s hole made him want more.

The first time they’d done this, it had been France in winter. They’d gone into the forest, swallowed up in the olive drab of the big army issue jackets they wore over their more colorful uniforms, and Bucky had leaned against a tree trunk while Steve knelt in the snow. Bucky had been smaller then, wiry and prickly and sharp edges that shrank away when Steve curled his hands around Bucky’s small hips and pulled him close, licked him open until even their frozen toes felt warm. It had been strange and wonderful all at once, the bottom of Steve’s belly dropping out when kissing Bucky’s hole with his big hand around that little cock made Bucky come against the cold tree bark.

It had been the sort of thing they’d barely had time to understand before Bucky fell and Steve crashed the plane. Fucking and love had been the sort of thing that Steve had thought existed outside words, but he knew better now, knew to pull the words up out of his body and into the open air, to put them right into Bucky’s hands. This wasn’t even the first time Steve had eaten Bucky out since he’d come home, but it still felt brand new, filthy and right, winter outside and bodies brought back together again.

Steve kissed the puffy, sloppy skin right behind Bucky’s balls, then bent a little further down to lick and lick and lick over the taut, drawn up swell of Bucky's sack. He only realized his own chest was heaving when he craned his head up, eyes caught on the curve of Bucky’s spine, the glossy fall of his hair. His mouth and tongue burned from the friction, and his chin and cheeks were all damp, now. His voice was low and used up when he spoke.

“You want me to make you come like this, Buck?” Steve asked. “Or you want something else, sweetheart?”

The dip in Bucky’s back deepened, an outrageous arch that tipped his hips back just that much more. Steve could see his fingers curled into the sheets. “Just this, just this,” he said.

“Alright,” Steve said, his face drawn right back down to Bucky’s skin. “Anything you want, honey.” He kissed the back of Bucky’s thigh, and licked back in.

Steve knew how numb and raw and sore his own mouth and tongue and cheeks felt, and he knew that these days, the feeling would linger for a while, unhealed for long enough for the memory of fucking to sink right down to the marrow. It made him wonder how it felt to be Bucky, to let himself be pushed down into the sheets like the sweet, small thing he was. To let Steve pull apart him apart, opened up on a rough tongue. How did it feel to be big, to be small, to _let_ Steve take from him? How would it feel for him later, when Bucky's body quickly healed up the chafing, tightened up that little furl of his hole?

Maybe what Steve really wanted to know was, how long did Bucky's body remember Steve's? It seemed like Steve's body had never forgotten, even when every last touch had more than faded away. There had been almost one hundred years to forget, and yet Steve never did.

Licking into the new-familiar body beneath him, Steve thought that maybe neither one of them really could ever forget something like what they had.

Bucky's hips were hitching in Steve's hands, distracted little jerks that pushed and pulled his ass against Steve's mouth in little bursts of pressure. There had always been something so shy and small about how badly Bucky wanted sex, pliant and eager for it, and Steve groaned into slick, trembling skin when he heard Bucky whining, high-pitched and hungry, into the pillow.

It was only the work of a few breaths to peel his mouth away and see Bucky's face and shoulders pressed into their bed. Steve buried his face into Bucky's thigh, kissing the bend where his hips and thighs were folded into plush, trembling sweetness. Steve pushed a hand down low, skimming over the silky soft skin of Bucky's hard cock, over the springy, damp hair at the base. He stroked over the firm curve of balls drawn up tight, so full and tender, and he smiled when he felt Bucky jolt at the little touches.

Steve circled his hand around Bucky's cock, a loose little hold, just massaging his thumb under the curve of the head while the rest of his hand hung loose and heavy around the base. "My mouth feels good on your little hole, doesn't it, kid?" Steve asked, thumb still stroking away. "It's not enough, though, is it?"

Steve dragged his hand upwards, grip suddenly firm as he pulled up Bucky's flushed dick. He squeezed around the head, knowing it was just a hair too tight to feel good. "Oh, come on, kid. Can't you answer me?"

There was a little, harsh sound as Bucky breathed in deep. "It's good," he whispered, and Steve dragged his hand down slowly in response.

"But it's not enough, huh?"

Bucky shook his head, and Steve could see it, but he still bit the soft, fleshy part of Bucky's ass all the same. "Answer me so I can hear your pretty voice, Buck. Let me hear how good you sound." Steve gave Bucky another quick stroke, a little rush of encouragement.

"Not enough," Bucky gasped out, the thickness of his voice almost teary.

Steve smiled. He felt benevolent, somehow, and he took pity with the next breath, deciding he didn't have to keep dragging out the answers when he already knew what Bucky wanted.

"You want me to jerk this pretty dick while I lick you out, don't you, kid." The reply was wordless, a crooning little whimper, a plea. "Alright, reach back here for me," Steve said, pulling away from Bucky's cock to position Bucky's hands on either ass cheek. "That's it, hold yourself open for me."

It was one thing to ask for it, but it was a whole other thing to see it— Bucky’s body, trembling and warm against the white linens, ribs sharply contracting with the force of his own breaths; Bucky’s face, pressed right down into the bed, pink and pretty; Bucky’s hands on either ass cheek, spreading himself to Steve’s gaze, wet hole bared and relaxed looking despite the blood-flush and sticky wetness. The metal arm gleamed, plates rippling into place in a single, gorgeous undulation. Steve felt like he’d been socked in the gut to look down and see the artful fall of Bucky’s body, strong and solid but somehow still so _little_, a gift Steve got to touch, peel open, examine, again and again. New and old, past and future.

Steve settled into place one slow motion at a time. He wrapped a spit-wet hand around Bucky’s cock, pulling gently downwards in gentle, warm strokes. A muscle jumped under the soft skin of Bucky’s pale thigh, and Steve put his mouth there, kissing away the remnant of a twitch. He nosed along the back of Bucky’s thigh, mouth drawn inwards to Bucky’s balls, to the wet skin of his perineum, tongue licking upwards to the gently loosened rim.

This time around was even gentler, more focused. Steve’s hand was firm on Bucky’s cock, but he moved slowly, just barely out of sync with the merciless lapping of his tongue. He lingered over pressing the tip of his tongue against the rich, warm divot of Bucky’s hole, just barely dipping inwards. He toyed with the wet head of Bucky’s cock, squeezing and releasing, stroking over the sensitive glans with deliberate attention. It was all-consuming, and Steve sank into the work, mind gone quiet as his body took over.

Steve was still hard, cock bumping into the sheets, the mattress, but it was so far removed from the immediate sensation of eating Bucky right down to silky-loose nothingness that he didn’t really care about the pressure. Not when he had all this to himself.

Sound barely filtered through to Steve. A little of Bucky's panting breaths and cries, a little of his own harsh exhales, all washed over by the erratic throb of his heart. The slap of Steve’s hand wrapped around Bucky’s cock was moving quicker, now, Steve’s grip growing tighter and tighter. Steve’s eyes had slipped closed in concentration some thousand heartbeats ago, and it was easier to feel the shudder and tremble of Bucky’s skin against his face, the restless humping that pushed Bucky’s cock into the tight sleeve of Steve’s fist.

Steve worked his tongue that much harder, and maybe there was an ache to it, a stiffness in his jaw and a pain blooming in the back of his neck, but he couldn’t stop. He was too enraptured by all the ways Bucky was getting closer and closer, his whole body loose and stiff in spasming pleasure, orgasm clearly just riding under the skin. The only thing he wished for was the look on Bucky’s face, the chance to put his fingers on Bucky’s chin, to watch his red mouth split open like an overripe cherry around a brutal pit as Steve pressed his fingers in.

Now, _now_ Bucky’s hole was fluttering, his cock rigid in Steve’s hand. The taste on Steve’s tongue had become somehow richer, thick all the way down the back of his throat. It wouldn’t be long now, and yet, in another handful of heartbeats, it was still a shock to feel Bucky coming into his cupped fist. Under his tongue, Bucky’s hole was contracting in tight, bittersweet jerks, and Steve gentled the pressure, lapping slowly even as he jerked Bucky through a few stuttered cries, the last pulses of hot come pooling in his hand.

Steve gave Bucky one last lick, and when he sat back on his heels, it was like all the sound was turned up high on a breathless whim. His hand was on his cock before Bucky had even finished sinking into a boneless puddle beneath him. He wasn’t gentle with himself, not even a little, dragging a fistful of Bucky’s hot come down his shaft in a vise-grip and drawing it back up. His hand moved without him even thinking about it. All he needed to do was look at Bucky— the mess of his wet, curling hair, the deep heave of his breathless chest. The twist of his hips and hands buried deep in their sheets. The gorgeous spill of red abrasions on his ass, a flush that dripped right down to his thighs. The shine of too many wet kisses right at the seam of him. Every gorgeous little thing about Bucky was sweet friction, desperate and lovely and good.

When it came, Steve's orgasm was a brutal tightness, punched out of him after so many days apart and alone. Steve’s grip was sloppy, and fat spurts of come splashed down onto Bucky’s thighs, marking him even as it dripped down the rounded curves of Buckys’ splayed legs. Steve felt lightheaded and breathless, caught between the throb of his own body, and the way Bucky looked, peeking up at him over his shoulder with a pleased little smile on his tired mouth, body even looser now, riding the edge of gluttonous sleep.

Coming home was something that happened in little stages: sleeping with Bucky curled up against him again, waking up to Bucky moving around their home, stripping down to the pieces of them that _wanted_, fucking until their bodies felt like they’d been made in tandem. He touched the back of Bucky’s thigh with his filthy hand, and sighed, feeling pleased and finally, finally at home.

“Told you we’d need the towel,” Bucky mumbled while Steve’s heart was still slowing down.

It was the work of shaky legs, but Steve crawled to the edge of the bed and leaned over, just barely snagging the towel with the tips of his fingers. He took a dry corner and wiped up all the come, careful of all the little dribbles and smears that had slid down between Bucky's thighs. And it wasn't much more useful, but Steve took a wet spot on the towel and tried to wipe away the tacky smears his quick clean up had left behind.

After wiping up his own hand, Steve balled up the towel and flung it into the hamper across the room. He'd have to do all that soured laundry from the trip soon, anyway. One more towel wouldn't hurt.

Steve sank down on his belly, too, the both of them with their faces turned towards each other. Bucky smiled, just a small little twist to his lips, one corner turned up higher than the other, and Steve smiled back. It was like looking into a magic mirror.

"I know you've just been waiting on your donut this whole time," Bucky said, pausing when Steve chuckled. Bucky's smile got a little bigger, shining through his words. "But how about this, pal. You rub my back for like ten minutes while I take a nap. You get me up, we go out to the kitchen and I make you some decent coffee and we eat all twelve of those donuts."

Steve pretended to consider it, humming noncommittally even as he dragged his hand up Bucky's spine, drawing circles in big and small loops, all one unbroken line. Bucky's lower lip poked out a bit, the faintest stirrings of a pout, and Steve had to lean forward to kiss it. "Whatever you want, kid," Steve agreed.

"Love you," Bucky mumbled.

Another kiss to Bucky's sweet little mouth, another long sweep up the strong line of Bucky's spine. Another little smile. Another_ I love you too, Buck._

And they both ended up falling asleep all over again, and it felt pretty damn nice.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a reference to the Lana Del Rey song, because there weren't any Phoebe Bridgers or boy genius songs happy enough for this story.
> 
> We hope you enjoyed this story and the art that inspired it!
> 
> [corarochester on twitter](https://twitter.com/corarochester)  
[cobaltmoony on twitter](https://twitter.com/cobaltmoony1)  
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